


I Want You Always By My Side

by Bloody_Vixen



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Abuse, Dark, Emotional Abuse, F/M, Mental Illness, Rape, Torture, Yandere
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2019-08-08 23:09:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16438583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloody_Vixen/pseuds/Bloody_Vixen
Summary: “Ti voglio sempre al mia fianco”- I want you always by my side. Not all love confessions are sweet, some are warnings you should heed.Dark!Copia. Inspired byask-the-clergy-bcyandere headcanons.





	1. Warning

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by ask-the-clergy-bc's two [yandere](https://ask-the-clergy-bc.tumblr.com/post/178701519058/can-i-get-a-yandere-papas-and-cardinal-with-their) [headcanons.](https://ask-the-clergy-bc.tumblr.com/post/179476852203/can-i-have-a-continuation-of-the-yandere-papas)

You were a trembling wreck.

You didn’t know how your plan had failed.

You were so sure that it would, _should_ , have worked.

Copia had finally decided to do a task outside of the church for Papa the Second. When this whole entire mess had started he never left you out from his sight. At the time he asked you out – you had been alone, feeling alienated in a church you had been so sure would have been you sanctuary.

And it was, at first.

Although you had an antipathy to organized religion and churches, there was something soothing about the Church of Ghost. You came to this country for work, your company sending you here to oversee one of their branches. You quickly come to learn that there’s a huge difference in visiting a country and staying in them. Yes, the locals are friendly even at your clumsy attempts at Swedish but you can’t help but feel…alone.

You were homesick. You missed your family, your home, the food, everything that was from your country and though Sweden was considerably better in most aspects you couldn’t help but yearn for the imperfections of your land. Your depression – which you thought had been under control – hit you like a tonne of bricks.

The Church was unknown back then and you sometimes wondered how, in such a large country could you have stumbled upon him, upon Papa or the fact that you didn’t run away from his fierce visage.

He was singing then, in a voice that belied his face, gesturing you amongst the crowd as those eyes pierced through your very being.

Afterwards, you bought their music and listened to them for hours, each lyric seemed to resonate through your soul, each word a love song and each melody a gentle embrace from something so profoundly divine yet mortal.

You don’t recall the months after, you were rejuvenated and the people around you – colleagues, bosses – were delighted in your change. Inwards you felt something more spiritual being born. A kind of religious awakening you thought would never happened to you.

If younger you would meet you then, the one who decided to join in the Church devoted to Satan, you would have laughed until you fall sick. It was ludicrous, absurd.

Heresy.

That was what your family had said on that one last call you made to them. You don’t know how they found out but they did and they were not happy about it.

“Why, {y/n}? We did not raise you to be like this!”

You cried; all words lost as you tried to make them see, make them _understand_ why this Church, which was such an anathema to them, was in fact saving you. You knew your parents were screaming, your siblings scolding you and demanding you return because no family of theirs would worship their God’s enemy.

They ended the call, threats of disownment upon their lips.

The next hours were a blur to you.  But the next thing you recalled were that you were running, the madness in your mind gripping you, hard. Part of you, the rational bit was screaming for you to stop, to recall that this is a manic phase and you _never_ make any decisions well when you’re in that. But your mind is a fickle bitch and it whispered non-stop to go.

You should go to Church, one of them – Papa - will give you the words to bring them back. He was the Eloquent One, he could help you. He will make them understand and your family won’t leave you.

The words repeat in your head, even when you arrived, dishevelled and near collapse.

…except Papa wasn’t there.

Instead, Cardinal Copia, red and bewildered answered the door. You babbled like a jet engine, words pouring forth before you gripped him. The man had been so kind then, all sweetness and compassion as he took you inside and sits you down as you continue to chant, help, papa, family, over and over.

“I’m sorry but Papa has gone for an appointment outside. He won’t be back until next week.”

You should have turned back. Gone home, nurse away the obsessive thought planted in your brain. Instead you collapsed into Copia’s arms and sobbed.

You should have gone home.

But you stayed, wanting the comfort. And you got it, at first. Sensing that it would be wrong to send you home, Copia gently asked you stay for a while, at least until Papa returned.

And you did.

Even when you learned that demons’ exists and that the Ghouls were not a quirky label for a group of masked band members. You stayed even as Papa’s absence melted from a week to a month or that your desire for your family’s acceptance faded as another takes their place.

And how could they not be?

Not after the Church, the clergy and all of them took you in, once your boss realized that you had started missing work and gone for days to a small Church they deemed as a cult and therefore fired you. You stayed because although you wanted a Papa, you found yourself comforted by a man of red, a Cardinal who had always been there when you’re feeling down. Or of the Ghouls and Brethren of Sins who understood all it means to be human and all the natural feelings that come with it.

True, they stopped talking to you after but you chalked it up as it was because you were still struggling with the language and for some odd reason they were not fluent in English. Copia explained it was because those who joined were often uneducated and were the outcasts who were forced to live on the streets before finding solace here.

Copia was always there by you; explaining part you were unsure off and always with a kindness and patience that it hurts.

There was a saying of a frog and boiling water. An abuse victim never noticed that they are being boiled alive, because the water boiled so slowly that by the time they came to that realization – it was too late.

You didn’t recognize that it was absurd in a country where English was practically a second language, that the local followers couldn’t speak a word of it when it came to you. You didn’t notice how others would make excuses just to avoid you or that the ones who persisted would often _disappear_. You don’t because Copia was always there to soothe your worries.

He had such a way with words.

_“Don’t be silly, {y/n}, you’re doing wonderful. You have come so far, you don’t need anyone. Except me,” he’d laugh._

_“Ah, little one, I heard your cries, come and let me soothe you.”_

_“There should be no secrets between us, for friends don’t keep secrets from each other.”_

Always with kindness and you clung to him because it never occurred to you he was the only one who could.

And so it was, when one day, he came to you, decked in all white and carrying a bouquet of flowers.  

You stuttered because he never wore anything but black and red and yet, there he was, shining like his Infernal Majesty.

He simply gazed into your eyes and said:

“ _Ti voglio sempre al mia fianco_ ,” _I want you always by my side._ He later explained at your bewildered expression because while you’re trilingual, Italian was not a language you’re familiar with.

He spoke of your kindness, your beauty and how much you mean to him.

It was like a romantic story. A man who thought he’d never find love and a woman who had been hurt and yet they found solace in each other.

It was beautiful and in your loneliness you believe he would be kind as the words he spoke, in body and soul.

You should have realized that “ _Ti voglio sempre al mia fianco”_ wasn’t a love confession, it was a warning.


	2. Lies and Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The stories will alternate between present and past. I wish to experiment a bit. This was supposed to be a one shot but it got longer and longer and I just gave up. Most of the fic had been written but I will continue to add here and there. 
> 
> Please heed the tags and warnings. Also, the italians here are courtesy of google + google translate.

Your hands and feet were quickly shackled to the wall. The cold brick burned your flesh. The gag in your mouth muffled your discomfort and fear.

“Leave us,” you heard him order and the ghouls left, slamming the door behind them. You could hear him pace, a red blur in the dimly lit room. You hear his shoes stomping over what had formerly been your glasses. Part of you is glad that you couldn’t see him because the last clear vision you had were of those eyes and they were burning with fury.

You started crying then.

Not because you feared him, no, you ruthlessly stomped those feelings but because you had been _so close._

You had made it out from the Church grounds, after painstakingly trying to retrieve your passport. You took a car, abandoned it and then started walking towards the nearest city, not stopping even when your muscles burned and your stomach wailed at its emptiness. You allowed the manic to take over because it was what that got you into this mess.

You were this close to boarding a bus when arms wrapped themselves around you and your screams were drowned by the sound of Ghouls growling.

You kicked and punched and screamed but it was like hitting concrete. Worst, nobody heard you or cared that a woman was being manhandled by group of masked men.

They shoved you into a black limo and pinned you to the seat as you bucked and struggled to escape before a backhand silences you.

It was then you noticed that Copia was sitting across from you, his hand clenched as he curtly ordered the driver to return.

Then you ended up here; naked and chained as Copia paced in front of you, silently.

A thought ran across your mind: Dissociate. _Now._

You had only heard whispers of this; of Copia’s little torture chamber. You had dismissed it of course – it sounded like something a Christian made up when it comes to Satanic worships. You truly wished that had been the case.

Your body trembled – because it knew what was coming. What was going to happen.

Leather gloves gripped your cheeks as Copia’s face comes to sharp relief.

“Oh, _cara mia_ , why did you try to run away? Hm?” He asked softly, almost concerned, his face so close you could smell the wine upon his breath. You don’t answer him, knowing that you couldn’t even if you wanted to.

His fingers dug deeper and you winced from the pain.

“Why? Did I not give you everything? I gave you room and board and love.” He said, shaking your head as he enunciated each word.

“I didn’t have too but you were so broken and sad when we first met. I could have sent for a Sister or Brother to guide you or even made you wait for that feckless II, but you _needed_ me. I was busy but I took time and cared for you and you spat that back!” he growled.

You wanted to scream, to deny his accusations and blame, because you came here for comfort and solace not turned into a fucking prisoner but your words were muffled. He continued on, his other hand clamped the back of your head as both his hands squeezed your skin.

“I gave you everything…” He sighed, leaning his forehead against yours. Then, taking a deep breath, he snarls, “But if you insist on being an ungrateful brat then I have no choice but to punish you like the child that you are.”

His hands slid to clamp the sides of your head and then he slams you against the wall. Stars flickered in your eyes as the pain bursts in your skull. You barely recovered when you felt something thin and sharp smacking you across your face. Warm blood trickled down your cheek. Then he stopped, allowing you to take in the pain before slamming the whip to the same spot.

You tried not to scream, to give him the satisfaction but as the time continued, it escaped you nonetheless.

* * *

After the confession, you felt like you were on cloud nine. Copia was an esteemed and respected member of the church and he loved you, _you_!

You had never kissed anyone before, being a somewhat awkward virgin, but when his lips pressed onto yours, you’d bet that a true love’s kiss was exactly like that; soft and gentle before melting away to passionate caresses. He tasted like wine and flowers and you had never sampled anything as sweet as that first kiss.

While others pined for the Papas, especially when Papa’s brother Archbishop Emeritus joined the fold, you were content with being by Copia’s side. He quickly moved you to his room, saying you deserved more than sharing a small room with the other sisters. The same night, you two made love. He was so gentle, slowly touching you and opening you up, his ministrations burned away all the shyness you had.

“You’re mine as I am yours, _tesoro mia_ ” he said as you both curled against each other amidst the afterglow and you believed it.

But like all honeymoon periods, it must come to an end.

It was small things at first – when you noticed that all your duties came under him. You didn’t mind initially, after all you enjoyed his company, discussing about the finer points of theology amongst other things. But soon, it came to you that all of your time was by his side. As you wake, eat and work, he was the first face you saw and the last one you see. Any time you so much as detached yourself, your phone would ring and you’d hear him asked where you were because something required your attention. It was not uncommon for you to excuse yourself from conversations, scarce as it were, to scurry back to his office.

Some had taken to call you his shadow or _piccolo topi_ (little mouse) for you were never far from his side.

Some part of you recognized it; the pattern, the isolation but you feared being abandoned, where could you go? Home? Not when the last time you spoke your family shouted at you, you can’t go back, and so you ignored it, even as your instincts scream for you to run.

It was from a rather unusual place that the first shackles broke.

And it came from the man you first saw as an enemy.

Months after you first came to the church, Papa II returned with his brother, the Archbishop Emeritus. Apparently, the latter would be supervising the local branch as the band’s tour dates had been increased making it impossible to the Second to administer the church as he had before.

Copia – who had been expecting to take that position did not take the news well.

_“Him?_ Him? _That man hardly cares for work! He’s always late and wasting time! Did you know the branch he supervised had the least mass for the past hundred years? He’s never serious! He cares more for fucking than the message of our Infernal Majesty!”_

You didn’t question it. You knew how hard Copia had worked on the Linkoping branch, you had been there by his side, sometimes past midnight just trying to keep up with organizing the Church and the Band. You couldn’t help but resent The Second and the Archbishop, although you had yet met the latter.

That night was the first time he fucked you roughly.

_Copia’s hand yanked your head backwards as he thrusts you from behind. You were startled by his urgency and how there were no kind words, just growls of “I need you, I need you.” As he slammed into you again and again. It hurt but you ignored it because he_ needs _you._

He apologized, afterwards, of course, he didn’t mean it, _cara mia_ , he was just disappointed with the news. There were bruises where his fingers had dug into your flesh and he started to cry, asking for your forgiveness – he did not mean to hurt you.

_“Please forgive me, {y/n}.”_

And you do, every time because when you did, his eyes shone with blissful relief and your gentle Copia returned. And it was those eyes that you looked when it happened again. When the Archbishop called him for a meeting, alone or when one of the Archbishop’s ghoul pulled a prank on Copia or when you were too slow to finish paperwork that you were idling too long in the showers or stumbling upon a particularly difficult latin text.

The last three, he teased as punishment but you always end like feeling as though you were actually being punished.

Each time, he’d come down and kiss those bruises, begging for your forgiveness and promised it won’t happen again.

(Eventually, he stopped saying them, because he knew you’d forgive him anyway.)

It hurts that he had become this way, your sweet, gentle Copia chipped away as he watched the Archbishop strut around in a position that should by all mean be your beloved’s.

If that man had never arrived and the Second had only appointed the Cardinal as the administrator, Copia would not be suffering so.

In hindsight you were looking for a scapegoat, anyone but the demon by your side. Copia had saved you, you told yourself; gave you a place when your family abandoned you. Now he was hurting ~~(you)~~ so you decided to ruin the Archbishop. Copia could not do it of course, your beloved was often swamped with work, even with your help. So it was up to you.

You picked the night when Copia was sure to be in deep sleep. You gave him a drink with some of your medication – which made any first timer extremely sleepy. After ensuring he would not be woken, you slipped out into the halls.

You were going to destroy some of the more important paperwork that the Archbishop had to prepare for an extremely vital meeting the next day. It had to do with the expansion of the band beyond Europe, and heads would roll if it was not completed. Papa II had made it clear that it was his brother’s head on the line and to ‘not fuck it up’.

It would be a great shame if those paperwork and softcopies suddenly disappeared from the Archbishop’s laptop. But thankfully, Copia had made a backup and had it all nicely printed and ready before the meeting. It would shame the Archbishop and prove to the second just how great the Cardinal was.

When you reached the door, you took out the master key but found the door unlocked. You swallowed down a snort – of course the man would be this irresponsible. There were private documents in the office but what does he care?

How did he come from the same bloodline as Nihil, the First and Second?

You gave the hall another sweep before slowly opening the door and sliding into the room. It was dark, save for the laptop glowing on the table. A quick glimpse and you realized it was logged in and the documents were opened onscreen. What luck!

You quickly sat down and began to delete the words when suddenly you hear the sound of a switch being turned on.

“What are you doing?”

Papa, clad in nightwear and cleaned off his makeup stepped into the room.

You froze, fingers hovering over the laptop as excuses after excuses die in your mind.

What was Papa doing here? He was supposed to be in Stockholm!

“I…I’m…” you stammered, “I was just –” but the words die as the Archbishop stumbled in, his hair a complete mess as he flipped through a rather thick report.

“Lucifer’s tits, these numbers are ridiculous and –oh, hello {y/n}?” he said before his eyes trailed to his laptop.

“Fuck! It took me hours to fix the calculations!” he cried as he dashed to the table, trying to stop the file deletion. The way he said it, snapped something in you – he didn’t do anything! It was Copia who worked the numbers! How dare this man take credit for his hard work?

You shot up, intent on giving this man a piece of your mind and show the second just who was the better administrator but in your haste, your dress was caught by the table’s edge, sending you slamming straight into the younger Emeritus. The two of you stumbled straight to the floor. Papa’s brother grunted and you felt your body burn at the unwanted contact.

“Contrary to what they say, I don’t enjoy people throwing themselves at me,” he muttered underneath you.

“Oh for Lucifer’s sake,” you hear Papa snort as he bends down and grabbed your right arm.

You hiss and jerked it back – Copia had accidentally twisted it and it was still hurting. You push yourself up, clutching your arm as Papa’s brother, sat up. It pleased you to see him wince, his hand massaging the back of his head.

That was until his eyes turned to you, roaming (what a lecher) about your legs before widening with horror.

“What the fuck?”

You look down and saw the bruises. Your dress had been ripped in half, exposing the fresh and old discolorations around your skin. You yelped, trying to cover them up – Copia had given you the dress because your lovemaking had become rougher lately and you don’t want the brothers to think ill of him. _~~(But you do, oh you do)~~_

“I – it’s just,” you feel your face blush as pull the torn fabric across the bruises.

Thankfully, the Archbishop spoke out with an excuse, “Rough in bed?” he teased, chuckling.

You wanted the ground to open and swallow you up; you did not want to share that with him of all people and especially not in front of the Second. What you and Copia had was sacred.

“Ah, forgive me, _il mio piccolo_. That was crass and uncalled for.” The archbishop said softly.

“That doesn’t explain what she’s doing here.” Papa spoke sharply, his eyes narrowed.

Damn, you forgot why you were here in the first place, you try to come up for an excuse when his brother spoke up.

“Be nice _fratello_ , {y/n} is here to help me fix these numbers.” He said, picking the report from the floor. You fight the urge to let your jaw drop there as well. Here you are, bent on ruining the man reputation but he’s –

…he’s covering up for you? Unaware of your thoughts, the younger man, carefully hands you the report. You took it and stared down as he continued.

“I’d ask Copia but he looked like he needed sleep. {y/n} is just double checking, you know how I am when it comes to these things.”

A moment passed as Papa stared down at his brother, who smiled mildly, oblivious to the fact that your heart was beating a million times per minute. Then, the elder sighed.

“How nice, you’d rather bother his lover than him.” Papa replied sardonically but he turned to let himself out, “Just finish it and get some rest. You’re no good sleep deprived, _scemo_.”

“Ah, so you do love me, _fratello,_ ”

“ _Sta-zitto,_ ” Papa said before he slammed the door shut, ignoring the flying kiss the archbishop gave him.

You tried to follow him but the bastard spun around and you stop, for you noticed that his face was uncharacteristically serious. Your stomach drop and you feel your heart stop – here you are trying to shame a high-ranking member of the clergy only to be caught by the Papa _and_ his brother. You know you’d be kicked out, Copia, for all his power, could not protect you and you’d be alone, again.

Alone. The world shrink as the word echoed and you don’t realize it but you’re shaking and it’s cold and you’re just _useless_ why can’t you do _anything_ right? _Why? WHY?_

Strong arms, warm and gentle (Copia?), lead you to a chair and you feel a glass of cool water touch your lips.

“Drink, you’re shaking.” Despite the concern and kindness, you could not help but hate that voice. This is the man – the reason Copia is no longer sweet, that you’d be alone…

…and yet, as he rubbed your back, hushing you, calling your name you could not help but lean into him. It reminded you of a time when Copia used to do it when you came down from a manic phase or when your depression hits you suddenly. (Not the times after he fucked you because you couldn’t call it lovemaking anymore.)

_“Be careful of him, {y/n}. He breaks the hearts of everyone.”_ Copia’s warning comes back to you and you stiffened, gulping the last of the water before pulling yourself away. The archbishop was getting close and you remembered that he had just covered for you.

What does he want?

You expect him to leer, demand a _favour_ but you won’t do it. You’re loyal to Copia and even if it means you get kicked out of this church to prove that to him you will. The words were on your tongue and they stayed there… because rather than the lecherous gaze you expected, the youngest Emeritus looked…genuinely relieved.

“Feeling better? I’m sorry but my brother can be quite scary. Anyway, thanks for coming in. I know you’re tired but you’re pretty good with numbers and I’d really rather not wake Copia up. I know he’d do it, but he’s such a cranky little bat when he doesn’t get enough sleep.” He started, as he undid the file deletion.

“I mean, he’s good but I think you’re good too. Here, I’ve finished this section but could you please have a look through here…”

He didn’t mention why you’re here unbidden, instead he continued on as if the lie he spoke was real. At some point he found a dress robe to cover your body.

And that wasn’t the only surprise. The archbishop actually did the numbers. Not a trace of a fun loving man Copia ranted was there. Emeritus was typing fast and quickly, double checking the reports and numbers as you helped him. There was no flirting or jokes, just plain work. Your fear ebbed as the minutes passed by and you even forgot the reason why you were there in the first place.

Before you knew it, the paperwork that you had come to ruin was finished (again) and printing and it was only –

“Oh my! It’s nearly 2am, I think that’s enough. Why don’t you go to sleep while I wait. Don’t worry, I can handle it.” He said playfully.

You nodded, knowing that your plan was already ruined. It was strange, but it looked like he was going to stay the night, giving you no chance to execute your idea.

But even stranger, you don’t actually mind.

He even walked you to the door, keeping a respectful distance.

You quietly thanked Satan for this, although you’re not sure what to think of it when the man quietly held your hand.

“Don’t let love cage you, {y/n}.” he said, giving your hand a squeeze.

“What?” you blurted and the man gave you a sad, understanding look, “You are not alone. We may have missed your first cry that doesn’t mean we didn’t hear the others. Our door is always open, {y/n}.”

“I, um, yes,” and you pull away. Archbishop Emeritus gave you a gentle smile and waved as he closed the door.

You were aware of the noise you made as you walked back. But his words kept echoing in your head. It was there even as you slipped under the covers and curled yourself against your beloved’s body.

What did it mean?

Copia murmured in his sleep as you pressed your face into his chest, listening to his heartbeat, hoping to find an answer there.

“He’s lying.” You said to yourself.

Eventually sleep came…but you can’t help but think the Archbishop wasn’t the one who was lying.


	3. First and Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Rape.

Copia took his time with you.

First with a riding crop, then the whip but his favourites are his fists.

He was quiet during this session the only sounds were of your body being broken again and again, while you sobbed. Time blurred and eventually you stopped counting. Inwardly you prayed again and again to Lucifer for help but like the God that banished Him, He was silent. You started praying for the Papas, for Sister Imperator for anyone but like all your previous prayers they fell on deaf ears.

The pain blurred into a long note, Copia would interject, muttering curses at your sin, of your rejection and time became meaningless.

Eventually you soiled yourself.

“Oh dear…tsk tsk…such a filthy girl you are.”

You would cry from shame but your tears ran dry ages ago.

But the worst had yet to come.

You hear Copia toss whatever device he had to the side. You hear him walk away and for a moment you believe he had left, you tried to open your eyes but they were too swollen and so you shut them again. Suddenly, ice cold water splashed across your body. You cry out again but Copia was relentless as he tossed the water again, occasionally he stopped to scrub your flesh. It took your mind sometime to realize that he was cleaning you. Except this wasn’t like the times when he’d bathe you like you were the most precious of things but instead like a man scrubbing a particularly filthy car.

His hands roamed everywhere, no place was spared.

Not even there.

“ _Cara mia_ , look at you. All wet.” He growled, spreading you open. You tried to clamp your thighs shut because you don’t want him there; you don’t want him _anywhere_ but he pressed his leg between your, his free hand pressing down on your upper thigh – the pain bolting up your spine.

“Don’t, {y/n}, I need to clean you. Who knows what sort of filth is still there.” He said and you whimper, begging because you don’t want this, please, stopstopstop.

But they were muffled, just like your screams as he slipped his fingers into your cunt. Your body stiffen from the intrusion for it felt a million times worse than when he was beating you. The violating digits spread and curl inside you, his thumb working over your traitorous clit.

You feel his breath grow hot and heavy as he spoke into your ear, “I wonder if any of _his_ seed is still there.”

You whine, shaking your head because it’s not true – all the time you stayed with Copia you never betrayed him that way. Not even when he started to betray you.

“It’s okay {y/n}. I don’t blame you. The Third had always been a thief. He steals things. He steals _my_ things. I know he seduced you, filled that head of yours with lies. He does that. It’s the sin he loved the most.” He continued, his hands clenching with every word.

“You were always weak and vulnerable. I should have watched you more. Never should have let you out of my sight. And now look at you.”

His fingers slipped out but you had barely had seconds to be relieved when you hear the sounds of zippers opening followed by his cock slamming into your cunt.

Your vision turned white from the pain.

Copia was brutal in his pace. He did not wait for you to adjust as he thrusts into you again and again. Your body shook from the force of his attack, his hands held your legs open even as you start crying anew. You feel your back scrapped the walls, your hands pulled taut against the chain held you back. He pressed his face against your neck, his teeth clamped down onto your shoulders as he bit into you, drawing more blood.

It could have been minutes but it felt like an eternity as he chased his pleasure, heedless of your muffled sobs.

Soon his thrusts slowed as his breathing grew harder and shallower, then with one final plunge you feel him come, his seed coating you as he held you tighter.

“You’re mine. _Mine.”_

_No, I’m not. I’m not._

But he did not hear you and simply held you tighter.

“All, mine.”


	4. Hindsight

 You woke to Copia gone from bed.

At first you wondered what was missing but soon the memories of the night before flooded back.

The failed attempt at sabotage, the Archbishop’s words and…

“C..copia?” you call out. It was strange; since you both started living together Copia had always woken you as soon as he wakes up. Sometimes it would be with a kiss or a shake – because you tend to sleep like the dead – but not once had he left you alone.

The empty pillow and made up sheets felt…wrong.

You slowly rose from the bed, grabbing your glasses as you look around the room. Maybe he was showering? Or getting ready for work? But the bathroom door showed it to be empty and the room was still: no sign of Copia at all. You felt like a stone had just dropped in your stomach. Some time ago you would have welcomed this situation – because for all your love for him you do value you alone time and those had been extremely scarce as of late.

Panic grips your heart as you toss the sheet of you and suddenly you realized…

You were still in the robes the Archbishop had given you.

* * *

The robes were tossed into the rubbish bin and you swiftly donned your habit. You gathered some strange looks as you rushed the halls, panicking and hoping that Copia would understand.  


Nothing happened, you wanted to say, you swore it upon your soul but as soon as you opened the door and saw him there, smiling with those eyes, the words die in your mouth.

You had seen those cold eyes before. They appear whenever the Archbishop or his ghouls would flit around.

You never imagined it would fall upon you.

“{y/n},” he said in a clipped tone, turning back to the laptop on his desk.

“C-” you started, trying to find your voice but he dismissed you with a wave.

“I have no need for you today.”

“Copia…”

“That would be all.”

“Copia, please I can explain…”

He didn’t raise his voice nor move from his chair, instead Copia lifted his eyes and pinned you with a stare.

“Explain what? {y/n}?” He asked, as though he was simply enquiring about the weather. Your heart twists and the words fumbled from your lips.

“Last night, the robes, nothing happened, I swear it.”

“…robes?” he asked curtly. “What robes? You slept in your nightgown.”

Your mind reeled wondering what he’s trying to say but you continued to speak, “Last night, I was trying to…”

Copia raised his eyebrow, his lips thinning.

“Copia, I was trying to sabotage the papers. I went to the man’s office but he was there and I tripped and tore my dress. He gave me the robes to cover me up. That’s all, I swear it!”

“…you wanted to sabotage the papers?” he asked, curious. “Why would you do that?”

Because the Archbishop deserved it? You wanted to say but you remembered just how kind the Archbishop had been and how…different and so the words choke you.

“I, it was stupid. I just wasn’t thinking, I thought if he didn’t have the papers, he’d be demoted and you’d get the position – but I didn’t realize Papa was back and he caught me but Archbishop covered for me, I don’t know why but he did and that’s why…I’m so sorry, oh Satan, Copia I know what I did was wrong and it backfired and I’m sorry but I swear that’s all that happened.”

You didn’t realize that tears had started pouring down your face. There was silence, broken only by your sobs. Part of you wanted to run into his arms and beg for his mercy, his comfort but the other raged at your stupidity and so you stood still.

There was silence when, slowly you hear him move from his desk and walk up to you. He stopped just a few inches away and you looked down, fearing what you’d find if you looked up.

Then, Copia quietly tips your chin and forced you to look up to him. True to your fears, his face was hard to read but his eyes roamed all over you.

“Don’t lie to me.” He snarled, eyes narrowing.

“I’m not, I swear it upon my soul.”

Another moment passed before slowly, his eyes softened and he gives you a small smile.

“That was a stupid plan, {y/n}.” he said, not unkindly, pressing his forehead onto yours. “You could have been caught and kicked out of the church.” As he did, you feel like dying because that was true and you started to apologize again when Copia kisses you on your head and embraced you.

“But I am happy you did such a thing for me.”

You heart jumped and you clung to him like a drowned woman to a raft.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I just couldn’t stand to see you so sad.” You declared, so relieved that Copia understood. He rubbed your back, hushing you as you continue to weep and ramble.

“You truly are mine, aren’t you?” he murmured into your ear as he began to unbutton your habit.

“Yes, forever, Copia, always yours.”

For the first time since forever, you made love again and the strange message of last night faded away. Copia understood and you were sure that the love you two had would last forever.

Later, you fervently wished it hadn’t.

That he continued to believe you betrayed him, kicked you out, made you run away.

But hindsight had always been a bitch, haven’t they, {y/n}?

* * *

After the…pain…Copia somehow, switched. It was as if torturing and raping you drained whatever malice he bore. His eyes were soft again and he quietly unshackled you from the wall. Your legs collapsed but he caught you before your knees slam to the floor. Despite what he had done, you could not help but lean into his warm body, seeking comfort no matter how treacherous.  


“There, there {y/n},” he whispered before carrying you to what felt like a small, hard cot. You didn’t fight as he quickly cuffed your wrists to what felt like heavy manacles. You were so focused on the pain, everywhere, that it took you some time to realize that Copia was slowly dabbing your face with soft cloth and ointments.

He was cleaning you again but this time with kindness.

You wished he’d just strangle you.

You wanted to scream and hit him because you don’t want this, you don’t want this false benevolence, not after what he did to you. But your throat still ached and your body cared more for his healing touches than to mind what your soul wanted.

Copia continued in silence, cleaning your wounds and wrapping them in bandages.

“Lie down,” he said, pushing your body down to the hard cot. Though you still hurt, you could feel the medicine numbing some of the cuts. Another silence followed as your body began to wind down, fatigue seeping into your bones.

Then you felt it, his hands caressing your cheek. You stiffen, waiting for the next blow but all he did was continue to brush your skin and despite your hate, despite your anger, his hands soon soothed you to sleep.

  



	5. Cry for Absolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please heed the tags. Another short chapter.

You woke up again; chasing a dream that felt like freedom.

Then you felt metal wrapped around your hands, manacles and you remembered; the pain.

Copia – _Copia._

The first sob shook your aching body, it hurt, _it hurt_ , but you couldn’t stop it. Hot tears ran down your face as you curl up like a child, wishing that this wasn’t real; that what happened last night had been a nightmare.

But the aches, on your face, your back, your –

Your wounds broke anew as your fingers clawed to cleanse the filth. You can smell him, _taste him_ and it’s all wrong.

(But it has been wrong for some time hasn’t it {y/n}?)

Your wounds throbbed as your pried it open, refusing to allow the fake kindness to cover it. Hands pry the bandages apart as you rend and scratched until you felt every single one of them exposed to the air. They stung but it felt right. You don’t want the lie he covered you with.

You don’t want his lies.

So you laid there as blood trickled and scabbed. There was not much light in the room, save for a small slant way above you.

Lights danced through that opening and they looked soft. You wondered how it would feel between your fingers.

Fevered, you slip again.

* * *

He comes the next day, bearing food and drinks.

He started with scolding after scolding, chiding you for your self-harm. This time he covered you with harder, sharper lies.

“You must not open them further, c _ara mia_ ,” he murmured softly, finger deftly wrapping you up.

Once assured that your wounds are neatly wrapped, he fucks you again.

You cry; you always do. Sometimes he lets you, mocking as you sob from the pain.

“Bad girls get punished, _cara mia._ And you are a very bad girl.” He’d growl as you tried to push him away.

At times, his face would twist and he’d force you face down, his palm against your lips as he thrusts you mercilessly, like a dog in heat. He’d bite you like one too. This one was the worst. The guilt spurred whatever cruelty he had. Not content to bite you, he’d slap and whip and would strangle you as he’d cry.

“Why do you make me do this, {y/n}? Why did you run? _WHY DID YOU RUN?”_

You’d black out – whatever bitter response stifled as you hope, you hope this time you’d die.

But you’d wake again.

He’d come with food and bandages.

He no longer asked for your forgiveness.

He knows you have none to give.  


	6. Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited and added some extra bits.

Copia remembered how you both first met. Him an annoyed Cardinal, bristling at being forced to answer the door like some lowly Sibling and you a distraught, disowned child seeking salvation.

You did not realize it, but when he saw you, face twisted in agony, clinging to him like he was a lifeline – he wanted you gone. Instead he ushered you in. Not only because you did not flee when he said Papa was not there, not only because you followed when he beckoned but also because when he spoke – you listened.

You listened and stared at him as if he was Lucifer himself.

It was intoxicating.

Yes, he had done many confessions in his times, but Copia earned a reputation of being somewhat…unpopular; cold and hardworking, chiding anyone for not putting their soul for their Lord below. He had lovers yes, but the nature of the Church meant it was but brief flings, warm tumbles in the bed, before cold farewells.

He tried not to be bothered by it – for the eyes of the Siblings were often towards the Emeritus Brothers and the Ghouls, who were far more enticing and deliciously delightful. He buried himself with work, running the Church’s administration like a machine, serving his Papa without complaint.

He ignored the gnawing loneliness – he does not need them. He has the Old One and Papa Emeritus for a master, it was all he needed.

So when you came, he was ready to turn you to another Brother or Sister for help as he ought too but you clung to him, eye beseeching and lips mumbling for relief; from him.

He sat down and spoke and listened and you sat and listened in return. Your hands never left his, as though you feared he’d vanish if you let him go. Copia remembered how warm it was, how soft even though he wore gloves.

When he brushed away your tears and coaxed a relieved and tired smile – he fell. He wanted to capture the way you looked at him, the way you held him, how you breathed as he spoke of freedom, love and salvation.

Gently he asked you stay, to wait here until Papa returned, knowing you were in no condition to return. There’s a room just for people like you, for the Church took in the ones abandoned even by their God loving counterpart.

And you took his offer.

One day melted to weeks then to months. Sometimes you wanted to leave, knowing you had only a month of paid leave but Copia would be there distracting you with a tale, a hymn, a task. You spoke to others of course, for it was rather difficult not too but it was to him you turned too; Copia who offered you sanctuary and kindly ear when you were at your lowest.

But eventually you had to go. As much as the Church and its followers were becoming more and more like your own family, you could not ignore your actual bosses. So it was with deep regret you departed from Copia, promising to return as soon as you were able.

He had thought it would not hurt. After all, he had expected it. You were not of the Church and it had always been their sacred tenet that all those who came, could leave whenever they want. It was a beautiful month, one he would cherish…forever.

So he lets you go.

The next day, Copia found himself smirking at an interesting verse that he wanted to share with you, before reality came down and reminded him that you were not there. He’d sometimes walk a little too quickly to a certain closed paths, thinking you’d be there, reading quietly only to find an empty chair.

He became distracted that he made his first mistake with Papa; his superior merely quirked his eyebrow but the smirk on his face said everything.

He had made a mistake. That night – after fixing the error he had made with Papa – he sat down and planned. It would hurt to do this, he knew but he had to have you back and if this is what it took, then he would do it.

The next day he ordered a ghoul to find your workplace and proceeded with his plan to destroy your reputation and have you fired.

How you went from being a liked employee to someone who accompanies Satanists and might be too mentally unstable to conduct work. You fought hard to stay, working until the night, chasing the deadlines and swallowing whatever criticism came your way. Copia asked about you but understood when you cited work for your absence. After all, for every task you managed to handle, his ghoul worked harder to destroy it.

Emails went missing, you found yourself waking up late or missing a certain task. In another time you would have smelled sabotage for what it was but Copia made sure that your medication had been tampered with too. You became forgetful, careless despite the hours you put in.

It was all for nothing when your boss summoned you to his office and declared that you were no longer excelling at your duties and that this plus your known association with a very unpopular cult meant that they had to terminate your contract.

You were fired.

Copia visited you that very night, claiming a quick check. In another time you would have found this suspect, but once more you clung to him, your hands gripped his as you bawled into his chest, seeking comfort from the only friend you knew in this country. Your tears pained him, but as you held on, face buried into his chest, your arms tightened around his waist, he bit down a sigh. You fit so well in his arms and it was only a shame it was because of despair.

When you cited you have to go home since your work visa will expire soon, he quickly suggested you work at the Church. There’s an opening and you needn’t worry about lodgings, visa or money. It would all be taken cared off.

You were hesitant but Copia made his case. You were good with administration, you already knew yourself around the Church and its people; it was as if the job was made just for you. Besides, if you were to return home, it would mean returning to a family that abandoned you.

He saw the darkened expression on your face at the mention of family and before he could say anything else you nodded. Alas, you wanted to be alone that night, thanking you effusively. As he left you gave him another hug, whispering gratitude into his ear.

That night Copia dreamt of fucking you; he woke to stroke himself feverishly, wishing it was you.

You blended in well with the Church, welcomed for being a devotee. Papa Emeritus II even attended your initiation ritual, a rarity but it was to Copia you stared, beaming gratefully.

Copia knew he could not rest. Despite being a loner, you were a friendly sort, easy-going with the others. He watched as you talked to other and to his anger, others talked back, often with friendliness. You were his! Did they not know? He was the wisest after Papa, what need do you have for others’ opinions?

That night he sent the ghouls to quietly threaten the lot. If threats did not work than lies about how mad and cruel you were. Eventually the others avoided you, keeping a polite distance while you quietly confess to him how much it hurts to be ignored that way.

“But it’s okay,” you assured him, “I have you as my friend.” You were feeling spontaneous and pecked him on his cheek before returning to your task.

Later that night, Copia summoned a Sister of Sin and fucked her so hard bruises mapped her skin. The girl had grumbled but he threatened to have her excommunicated if she told anyone.

He needed you. Every time you were out of his sight, his soul ached and feared. What if you found someone else? What if you started to find him boring? What if someone tries to steal you?

He would not have it. He would not.

So he worked harder to keep you by his side. Piling you with work and when that got too much long walks and talks, anything to steer you away from the idiots who breathed in the Church. You never seemed to notice, so glad you were for a good friend and companion.

Weeks bled into months and soon he realized you had begun making tiny gestures of affection. He watched as you leaned closer to him whenever you worked together. The way your eyes would stay just a little too long on his lips, the blushes and how your hands seemed to twitch whenever his was near.

He was close – _so close_ and he knew soon you would his. And he no longer had to settle with a quickie with some Sibling of Sin in the dark. It would be you beneath him, gasping his name.

But in his happiness, Copia forgot one thing.

You had gone for a small all female Ritual that evening and left your phone on his desk. One of the rare times you two were apart.

Later, he’d like to think it was due to Lucifer’s blessing you had been careless. At first he wondered what the strange ringing noise was until he saw your phone vibrating near your workplace.

He saw a small image – a woman who looked remarkably like you but older and the name underneath: Mum.

He stared at your mother’s number, glaring furiously at the family who abandoned you. He let it go to voicemail before picking it up and unlocking it to listen.

They wanted you back. They were sorry and said it was wrong of them to disown you. They realized that religion wise you were still you and nothing would change that and they were sorry.

“Please pick up, {y/n}. We miss you.”

He broke the phone in half before throwing it away. When you returned and asked where it was, he feigned innocence and after a week of not finding it, offered to buy you a new one.

“New number, I’m afraid but it’s like a new beginning, yes?” he said and you thanked him again.

A few weeks later he came to you and asked you to be his.

That night he finally, _finally_ , ravished you so thoroughly, marking you as his, his, _his._

In his happiness he forgot one thing.

Families can be very, very persistent.

 


End file.
